“Yes, Barney, I think I can tell you. God's great goodness will do this for you. Listen,” she said, putting up her hand to stay his words, “God is bringing a great joy to you to shame you and to soften you. Here, read this.” She handed him Iola's letter, went to the window, and stood with her back to him, looking out upon the great sweeping valley below.
“Margaret!” The hoarse voice called her back to him. His hard, proud, sullen reserve was shattered, gone. His lips were quivering, his hands trembling. The girl was touched to the heart. “Margaret,” he cried brokenly, “what does this mean?” He was terribly shaken.
“It means that she wants you, that she needs you. Dick was going to-morrow to bring her back to you, Barney. That was his one desire.”
“To bring her to me? To bring her back to me? Dick? Dear old boy! and I—Oh, Margaret!” He put his trembling hands out to her. “Forgive me! God forgive me! Poor Dick! I'll see him!” He started toward the door. “No, not how,” he cried, striving in vain to control himself. “I am mad! mad! For three long years I have carried this cursed thing in my heart! It's gone! It's gone, Margaret! Do you hear? It's gone!” He was shouting aloud. “I feel right toward Dick, my brother!”
“Hush, Barney dear,” said the girl, tears running down her face, “you will wake him.”
“Yes, yes,” he cried, in an eager whisper, “I'll be careful. Poor old boy, he has suffered, too. Dear old Dick! And she wants me! I'll go to-night! Yes, to-night! What's the date?” He tore at the envelope with trembling hands. The letter dropped to the floor. Margaret caught it up and opened it for him. “A month ago and more! Yes, I'll go to-night. Oh, Margaret, what a blasted fool I am! I can't get myself in hand.” Suddenly he threw himself into his chair. “Here!” he ground out between his teeth, “get quiet!” He sat for a few moments absolutely still, gathering strength to command himself. At length he got himself in hand. “No,” he said in a quiet voice, “I shall not go tonight. I shall wait till Dick is better. Just now he must be kept quiet. In the morning I expect to see him very much himself. We can only wait and see.”
Through the night they waited, Barney struggling mightily to hold himself in perfect control, Margaret quietly doing what was to be done, her whole spirit breathing of that self-forgetting love which finds its highest joy in the joy of another. At the break of day the nurse came to the door and found them still waiting.
“Mr. Boyle is awake and is asking for you, Miss Robertson.”
“Let me go to him,” cried Barney. “Don't fear.” His voice was still vibrating, but his manner was calm and steady. He was master of himself again.
“Yes,” said Margaret, “go to him.” Then as the door closed she stood once more before the Gethsemane scene. “Thank God, thank God,” she said softly, “for them the pain is over.”